The Survivors: Point of Origin (book 2)

The Human Trail, pt. 3

That night we went into Selcuk and got rooms at the Hotel Bella. Mark stayed with Ben, to show him the ropes of everyday things like running water and to make sure he didn't lose his mind flipping TV channels. Ginny had her own room, and Everett and I had one.

I took a long shower, washing off weeks of traveling dirt. Ginny had taken our clothes to wash, so I wrapped myself up in towels and sat on our bed, hoping it was not too inappropriate. Everett's eyes lingered on me when I came out of the bathroom this way, but he said nothing. My eyes widened a bit, too, to see him clad only in boxer shorts. This was the most I'd ever seen of him, but I said nothing either. We were even. Evenly uncomfortable. Evenly interested.

Everett fiddled with the contents of his traveling bag. His temperament had been fairly smooth for the last few days as the weather got milder here, staying between forty and fifty-five degrees. As the feel of winter faded, his anger and needs subsided. This was a welcome reprieve after months of recurring tension between us.

His alabaster skin was glowing in the lamplight of the room, except for the shadows under each deep cut of musculature in his frame. It was hard to focus.

"Your trip seems to be coming together, princess," he said.

"In some ways," I said, burying myself under the covers. I had an awful lot of fabric on my body to still feel so naked. "We aren't any closer to finding out how to destroy Survivors just yet."

"But you're many steps closer to your point of origin," he countered, coming to sit next to me on the bed. He was trying with all his might to not think about the fully-covered-but-still-naked situation that was thoroughly occupying my mind. I knew this because he was so distracted by me that he was letting his mental armor slip.

"If the one Berkant called Raven is the point of origin then, yes, we are closer. I know he exists now and is possibly still alive," I said.

"Do you think he's the one who killed Hannah's father?" he asked, as he laid down. "Or that he could be Hannah's father?"

"Surely they wouldn't be the same person. Berkant's Raven is a monster, and Hannah's father was a quiet Puritan. It leads me to believe that maybe the monster killed him, as you suggest. Or maybe it doesn't. Maybe this Raven and Hannah's father have nothing in common. We don't know enough yet."

"Maybe Madeline and Patrick could go to Pickering and dig around. See if they can find part of the human trail there," he suggested. Pickering, in Yorkshire, England, was the town where Adelaide's family lived in Britain in the sixteenth century. This was a good idea, I realized, as it was one of the few sure instances of witch-families in a certain place at a certain time.

"Hand me my phone?" I asked, afraid to move and disrupt the mound of fabric I'd covered myself in. He obliged. I dialed Mark.

"Oh my god, it's a full time job taking care of this kid," Mark said.